a/n: i am disgusting shipping trash.

It seemed like parties caused most of their issues.

He didn't drink too much. Occasionally, he'd have a few shots or chug a beer, but it was never enough to get shit-faced like Cana did every day.

And, speaking of the devil; she was the cause of this party. Gray didn't mind parties, really. It's just that whenever alcohol was involved, bad things happened. Like missing underwear and phallic images drawn on his ass in permanent marker and a flowery bra latched on him instead of its owner.

"So, Gray, see any ladies to your liking?" Erza slurred, resting her arm on his shoulder. "There are quite a few nice ones here. Like, see the brunette?" She pointed, and Gray followed her finger to Cana, who swished her hips like a goddess. "God. Damn. I'd be all over her."

"That's Cana." He stated simply with a sigh. Apparently girly drinks made Erza incredibly flirty and open. He liked it, but having her attention focused on him would've been a million times better.

"Is it? I didn't know she looked that great. Or maybe it's the alcohol talking." She laughed, slinging the arm over his opposite shoulder. "You and Cana would be cute. Like, from one to ten, you two would be a solid eight."

"She's not really my type, I think." Gray told her, letting her lean against him. "I'd rather not smell like alcohol all the time."

"Enough about her, what about anyone else?" She inquired again, sipping at whatever she had in her free hand.

"I have a type, and there are zero available girls here who fit that." He told a half truth. There were a few; pretty girls with large brown eyes and long hair. Strong women who didn't take shit from anyone. That left two girls: Lucy, who was kinda more or less off limits, and the drunk redhead leaning against him due to her inebriation. To reiterate: No available girls he wanted to get with.

"You do not 'have a type.' You're just a sucker for big brown eyes." Erza set her drink down on the nearest flat surface and grabbed his chin, turning his face towards hers. Her eyes were lidded, with an emotion in her eyes he'd never quite seen before. It took most of his willpower not to die right there. "Like, for example, I don't have a type either. I just think guys with varying hues of blue hair are the hottest." She shifted herself to stand in front of him, her hands resting on his chest.

He stammered. What? Erza was there, eyes looking vaguely of the bedroom type, and she was... Pushing him gently against the wall. When his back made contact with the cold paint, he jumped a bit, but didn't try to move away.

Her actions weren't unwanted.

She leaned closer to him, her chest pressing against his, and as their breath mingled, his body seemed a thousand miles from his brain. No longer was his head in charge of the movement of his hands to her waist. "I've been wanting to do this for a long time," she breathed, and her lips pressed to his.

It was like something out of a dream. She was in control of the whole situation, going from having some space between them to none at all, biting at his lip and moving one knee between his legs.

Part of him wanted to push her away and go home to sleep off the one shot of vodka he'd had. But that part was very tiny. The bigger part told his to stay put and take advantage of it. Which was such a shitty thing to think, but he was tired of watching from afar. He relished in the touch, the feeling. It wasn't something he was likely to forget.

"I want you under me, Fullbuster," she breathed huskily in his ear, her lips nipping at the shell.

"Whatever you say, Titania," he replied, voice just as husky, and with a final bite to his earlobe, she grinned and dragged him through the dark halls of the party venue (which happened to be a house somewhere).

She had a lot of regrets about the night before, but she was currently warm and naked and pressed against a strong torso and all she could see was the guild mark on his right breast.

Actually, thinking about it, the only thing she regretted was not being sober and doing it.

His heart rate picked up, and his chest rumbled as he spoke. "Erza."

She nuzzled closer against him. "No."

"Huh?" He asked, and she shook her head.

"No. It's not morning. I will not accept that. It is still before dawn, and therefore I'm going to stay right here." She didn't want to move or relocate or get dressed or anything; she was more than content (if not a bit nauseous) laying in bed with him.

"Okay." And that was that. He didn't argue, didn't push the issue; just held her tighter against him. "You smell like roses and me," he said suddenly, and she laughed.

"You smell like you. Which reminds me of the ocean." She took a deep breath then, and silence fell over them again. More time passed, just breathing and relishing the other's presence.

He tried again. "Erza."

"Gray," she responded, looking up at his face.

"Are we going to talk about it?" He asked, and once again she felt fifteen years old again, feeling awkward after a night on the town together. She didn't want to. She could feel the armor trying to work its way back onto her heart again, but she pushed it away.

"There's nothing to talk about. It happened."

"Where does that leave us?" He asked.

"Who knows?" She was trying something new. Not freaking out over every little thing. "Let's take it a step at a time from here."

He hesitated, before a "sure" slipped from his lips. "A step at a time, then."